


Heaven, 696 AD

by the_agony_and_the_agony



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Chuck as God, Gen, Heaven, random pieces of chinese history
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-20 02:53:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_agony_and_the_agony/pseuds/the_agony_and_the_agony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I've often wondered how the angel of Thursday ended assigned to the Winchesters and eventually saving the world.  This is a speculation of how Castiel wound up at the center of God's plan.  I also explored heaven and how things might work there, as the show leaves it very ambiguous.  Written third person limited from Castiel's perspective.</p>
<p>There are Destiel implications although Dean won't be born for over a thousand years and so makes no appearance.</p>
<p>This is my first ever fan piece, so please be forgiving if I've screwed something up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heaven, 696 AD

Heaven, 696 AD

     Castiel frowned and chewed on the top of his quill. Thursday was almost over, and his scroll of notes was heaped about his feet like the shed skin of some endless snake.

    "She is at an optimal hormonal state," Samandiriel was saying. Castiel grunted in acknowledgement and noted it down, but his mind was elsewhere. God had been so distant lately, and a sense of listlessness seemed to have permeated all of heaven.

    Things hadn't exactly been harmonious since Lucifer fell, but at least God had been around. With the loss of his favorite son, God had thrown himself into his work, conferring tirelessly with his remaining children to ensure the writing of the Qur'an and the establishment of Islam, a sister religion to Judaism and Christianity. But now it was 696 AD and in the eighty-six years since the Qur'an God's once daily briefings in the Great Hall were now monthly, if that. He would spend days on Earth, just standing in a street, invisible, letting people walk by him. When he was in heaven he was mostly locked away, working on plans he would not even share with the archangels.

    "They held hands today, and she had a favorable reaction to the poetry he composed for her, so I would judge that everything is progressing according to plan."

    Castiel finally looked up and smiled, "This is good news," he said. Love pleased him very much. He sometimes wished that he had been assigned as a cupid instead of being the guardian of Thursday. The position would have been much lower ranking, but he felt perhaps spreading love among mortals would bring him more fulfillment than receiving the constant reports from thousands of sentinel angels on the state of things below, carefully coordinating the lives of countless souls he would never meet.

    Gabriel appeared beside him with a popping sound which gave Castiel a start. The popping sound was unnecessary, but seemed to serve the archangel's sense of humor.

    "Is that Guo Jinzi you're talking about?"

    "Yes brother," answered Castiel, inclining his head respectfully to the far higher ranking angel.

    "Has he knocked her up yet?"

    Castiel was ruffled by his brother's crassness, but tried not to show it, "signs indicate that the couple is very much in love, so I'm sure it is only a matter of time."

    Samandiriel, who had been carefully observing the couple since they had received their cupid's marks, would have done well to back Castiel on this point, but he stood wide eyed with his lips pressed together, afraid to speak before the Archangel. Poor Samandiriel was hesitant even to address Castiel on non-business matters, and there were only a few ranks between them.

    "Cupid shot them up two weeks ago- they should be at it like rabbits by now! You should give me clearance to go down there and give them some encouragement- get them in the mood."

    "The cupid's mark was clearly effective, and it is my professional opinion that any interference at this delicate stage would do more harm than good," Castiel was firm but polite, "Why is it so important that she conceive? Surely true love is an end in itself."

    Gabriel guffawed, "You think we went through all this trouble so a Chinese civil servant could attain domestic bliss? It worries me that someone so naive is in charge of one seventh of every week. What must Dad have been thinking?"

    Only Gabriel had the hubris to refer to the Almighty as "Dad", and it made the insult rankle all the more.

    "Why _is_ their path of such importance to our father, then?"

    Lower ranking angels were seldom allowed to see more than a single step ahead in God's plan. Castiel's mind spun just wondering what secret destinies Gabriel must be privy to.

    "Guo Jinzi and his soon-to-be-wife will have a son named Guo Ziyi. And Guo Ziyi will win many battles and become one of the greatest generals of all time. He will live forever in Chinese legend. In time he will even be considered a god- laughable though that sounds."

    "I don't understand how any number of battles or wars could be more important than the love blossoming between those two mortal souls below us," Castiel knew he had gone too far, but the words had already left his mouth.

    Gabriel rolled his eyes and threw his arms into the air, "Well then I don't understand you, little brother."

    The candle on Castiel's writing desk went out, signifying the transition from Thursday to Friday.

    "There! Shift change. Now you have a week's worth of paperwork to do and I get to work with Uriel, who doesn't annoy me with stupid questions and might actually find something on the mortal plane worth fixing so I can do my job and stop twiddling my thumbs with bureaucrats who wouldn't recognize God's plan if I acted it out for them with puppets!" Gabriel spat, "And you! Don't you have some menial event to watch?"

    Samandiriel withered under Gabriel's accusing glare, but managed to slip Castiel a sympathetic glance before hurrying back to his post for another day of peering through the clouds.

    Castiel envied Gabriel's freedom to go down and interact with the mortals. The longer he watched them, the more Castiel loved the funny little creatures on the ground beneath him. At first they seemed so limited, but now he saw that their flaws were what made them perfect, and his heart filled, sank, and filled again with their every little struggle and victory. He hoped that someday God would send him down to walk among them, if only for a day. He imagined that their souls must burn with all the warmth and brightness of the bonfires that burn at the gates of Eden, and that to be close to one during its brief time on Earth would be like those precious moments he had spent in the presence of God, only tiny and fragile where God was huge and all-powerful. God had put the best parts of himself in mankind, it was said. That was why Lucifer couldn't stand them.

    Uriel had appeared silently while Castiel thought.

    "Castiel, my brother, angel of Thursday, what have you to report before you retire your station?"

    "Uriel, my brother, Angel of Friday, Everything is progressing according to the plans set forth for us by the Almighty. Although the rain upon the Nile river has grown even heavier since this morning, and if it has not abated in the next six hours the river's flooding will become excessive, endangering four small settlements as well as the local population of mud dwelling toads. Nuriel is monitoring the situation closely, and celestial interference may become necessary," he glanced reluctantly at Gabriel, "I am sure that Gabriel would be happy to lead our meteorological division in managing the storm front should that be the case."

    "You'd have me waging war on a rain cloud? Really Castiel?"

    Uriel ignored Gabriel. He wore serenity like a cloak, and not even the slights of his older brother could pierce it.

    "Thank you Castiel, I will give the matter solemn thought."

    Castiel coiled his enormous sheaf of paper and picked up his extinguished candle, relinquishing the worn but stable writing desk to Uriel. The desk looked like heavy oak, but in heaven nothing really 'was' anything at all. Everything was constructed from a kind of dreamstuff. It felt very real to the touch, but it could be made and unmade with a simple thought, melting into nothingness like a cloud before the sun's rays. Still, it helped to treat everything as though it were real, and Castiel was careful not to crease or tear his thick role of parchment as he bowed respectfully to Uriel and then again, lower, to Gabriel and vanished with a flurry of wings.

    He appeared instantly in his quarters. He placed his candle and the day's notes on his writing desk. It was like the one he worked from but smaller and flimsier, with one leg a little shorter than the other three causing it to wobble when he leaned on it wrong. Of course it was only dreamstuff and with a little concentration he could fix it, just like he could turn his little cot into a luxurious four poster bed or he three legged stool into a throne, but he never felt the inclination. His little room served all his needs, and he had grown fond of its humble nature. And what was more, God had given him this room. It was the only thing God had ever given him besides his life, his purpose, and the rough linen robes he wore. That simple fact made his tiny quarters more grand than those of the richest emperor.

    He fiddled with his quill for a minute. He had to write up his report of every event that had taken place since he had started his shift on midnight Wednesday, re-transcribed from his scroll of notes into official format so that Muriel the angel of June could review it, add it to her report, and sent it up to Tubiel, Angel of the Summer who would in turn pass his report up to the angel assigned to the year 696, who would pass a final report on to God. Castiel's report usually took him all week, but his mind was even more troubled since his conversation with Gabriel and he decided that a walk to clear his head would enable him to focus better and hurry to still finish the report before midnight Wednesday rolled around again. So he put his quill back in its inkwell and set his feet to wandering.

    They soon took him to the Great Hall. Angels were not supposed to enter unless there was a scheduled briefing or mission announcement, but as angels never disobeyed orders there was no reason to keep the building locked.  Castiel loved the Great Hall. It was a space of such splendor and magnitude that it was breath taking even amidst the grandeur of Arcadia itself. It had a huge domed ceiling capped by a clear roof of glittering glass through which the heavens above heaven shone brilliant blue or twinkled silver in deep black. Below the dome was all marble pillars and floors overgrown with geometric patterns in gold like ancient vines. Usually Castiel valued a humble simplicity in all things, but this hall truly was God's home, and in the light of his glory the grandeur seemed to indeed be humble and simple. This was where all the heavenly host would gather to listen to God speak. When they stood rank upon rank in respectful silence the gentle motion of their wings filled the cathedral with sighs. In a room filled with angels, many-faced and many-winged, God alone stood with the simple form of a mortal man.

    He was lank and held His shoulders tensed and high. His skin was brown and weathered, His eyes shining green. His coarse robes were not pure white like the angels wore, but the soft beige of undyed fibers. When He stood on His podium before His children He wore His long gray-streaked chestnut hair tied back or braided behind Him, but on the rare occasion that Castiel had seen his father outside of the Great Hall His hair had been loose and hung in a tousled mane across His face and shoulders.

    Now the cathedral was empty and the silence seemed to hum with a celestial chord all its own. Castiel's footsteps rang out, harmonizing with instead of breaking the silence.  God's study was at the back of the enormous chamber, through an arched door of rough wood and heavy iron hinges. The door seemed at once at odds with the gold and marble and as at home there as a worn old book in a grand library. Castiel slipped his hand around the door handle without hesitation. He knew punishment would be dear should he be caught, but he could not feel afraid in a place so close to God's heart. He had snuck into the study several times before, and it was easily his favorite place in the heavenly kingdom.

    Compared to the great hall the study seemed as tiny and cozy as a mouse hole. In fact the room was very large, the ladders scaling the walls of books each easily spanning two stories. Books lined the walls, covered the many desks and tables, and had even begun to stack up on the floor. Jumbled in among them were candles, quills, parchment of varying sizes and lengths, cartography equipment, maps, and models fashioned out of clay and scraps of wood. On one table he noticed a pot of glue had been knocked over, its contents dripping slowly over a mountain of books and onto the floor. Castiel wondered if it would be presumptuous to clean it up or an act of sinful neglect not to do so. He approached it, brow furrowed, and then nearly teleported back to his quarters with fright to see God himself hunched over on the floor behind a pile of books, a stick of charcoal writing furiously in His hand.

    He was writing on a long piece of parchment that started up near the ceiling where it was pinned to one of the few patches of wall free of bookshelves, ran down and over a stack of books, across the floor for about five feet, over another pile of books then another eight feet of floor to where God was working, many more feet of parchment coiled on the floor behind His elbows ready to be unrolled across the full length of the room should God require it. Castiel stood dead still, willing himself to not so much as breathe, but when it became clear that God was undisturbed curiosity gradually got the better of him and he crept closer. The endless document was a family tree. Name after name connected with lines and arrows with notes squeezed in all around the margins and, he now noticed, pictures tacked on at the sides with straight pins. The list must have represented hundreds of generations- if not thousands. He watched God work.

    "Henry Winchester" He wrote on one side, and picked up a hand drawn portrait of a clean shaven man with short, neatly combed hair from a pile at His side and pinned it on. Then He turned to the other edge of the canvas where He drew an arrow from a previous name to a new space and wrote "Samuel Cambell", then another downward arrow and the name "Deanna Stuart". He pinned on each of their portraits then scrawled a long block of notes in the margin, too small for Castiel to read. God connected Samuel Cambell to Deanne Stuart with a line and amended her name to read "Deanne Stuart (Cambell)". He then drew an arrow down from the pairing to indicate a new generation and wrote "Mary Cambell". Then God connected Henry Winchester to his wife and then to a new generation where he wrote "John Winchester". God connected this new generation with a line, amending "Mary Cambell (Winchester)". He pinned their faces to the parchment with a hurried hand, as though he were impatient for what came next.

    The creator of the world then sat up, twiddling his stick of charcoal between his fingers as if to dispel excess creative energy as he stared at the two remaining portraits on the floor beside him. Castiel couldn't help but notice the stick of charcoal had not been getting any shorter or less sharp. Perhaps Castiel should try a similar trick with his own quill and ink pot in future...

    "Is God's great plan as glorious as you imagined, or does the spilt glue and my terrible handwriting ruin it for you, Castiel?" asked God. Castiel froze in shock cold and still as ice. He had been spying on God! What had he been thinking? He surely deserved hell or worse for his trespasses. What a fool he was to think that the all-knowing all-seeing God hadn't noticed a nosy angel peeking over His shoulder.

    "You've got nerve sneaking in here Castiel, I'll give you that."

    Castiel's jaw was clenched so tight it hurt. He must have been watching God for ten minutes that seemed like no time, but the seconds since his discovery stretched out like hours as he waited for God's judgement.

    "You have no cause to fear me, Castiel, or my wrath. I've... mellowed out a lot in the last few centuries," God smiled apologetically but if anything Castiel went further into shock at being addressed with such familiarity. God had said his name- said his name multiple times! And now He was looking at him- directly at him, His green eyes deep and gentle like a calm sea. Castiel felt that the sun itself had turned on its axis to shine just upon him.

    "What's on your mind, my son?"

    The hubris of addressing God, let alone troubling Him with the minutiae of Castiel's inner thoughts was unbearable, yet God had asked him directly and not to answer God's question would be an even greater act of disrespect.

    "There are two mortals in the Hua Prefecture," Castiel began cautiously, "we have been working for generations- over two hundred years- to ensure that they should be born, meet, and fall in love. And seeing the way they look at each other, the way one smiles at the other when they think the other isn't watching, I feel that those were two hundred years well spent.  But Gabriel says we brought them together so that they might have a son and that son might win many wars. And this troubles me."

    "Why does this trouble you, Castiel?"

    "It troubles me," he hesitated, but to lie to God would be a greater sin than to question him, wouldn't it? So he went on, "because I don't see how war could be more important to you than love."

    God thought about this for a long time.

    "Huh," He said finally, "I really broke the mold when I made you, didn't I Castiel?"

    Castiel did not know what God meant by this, but he assumed the worst.

    "I'm sorry, my Lord- I didn't mean to- it was wrong to-"

    "Be still, Castiel. You have nothing to apologize for," His voice had the warm reassurance of spring's first breeze, and Castiel calmed. Somewhat. God frowned thoughtfully at His son for a while, turning something over in His mind.

    "I want to tell you something, Castiel," he said, "something I don't expect you to understand. But I want to tell you anyway. I would like to hear your perspective on it."

    Castiel could not imagine how his perspective could possibly be of use to all-knowing God, but he stayed silent.

    "I have doubts, Castiel."

    "Doubts about what?"

    "About myself. About creation. About whether I did a good enough job, or whether I failed you all. About whether I'm even worthy to be God."

    The pain in God's face shook Castiel to the core.

    "You are the Almighty! You are perfect and divine and as such all creation is perfect and divine because it is an extension of your self!"

    God smiled sadly, almost a cringe, "Of course you think that- you are part of creation. How could you think otherwise? But if I am perfection, if _this_ is perfection, why is there so much suffering? Why is everyone so flawed? Why do I keep making wars, when I should only be making love?" God winced at his accidental double-entandre, but Castiel was oblivious.

    "I've always been told you work in mysterious ways."

    "Yeah, mysteriously stupid ways," God scoffed. Castiel was hurt.

    "You are my father," he said, as though this fact alone should assuage God's doubts.

    "And what kind of shitty father have I been to you?"

    "You are the greatest father than can be- that could ever be." Castiel's confidence was unwavering, even as he fought back the tears that were beginning to form behind his eyes.

    "When have I ever spent time with you, Castiel? When I have I even spoken to you before now?"

    "You speak to me from your pulpit every-" Castiel remembered that God's sermons were no longer daily, or even monthly, "-time you assemble us in the Great Hall," he finished clumsily.

    "I don't speak _to_ you, I speak _at_ you. You gather before me in your thousands and I address you as a group. When have I spoken to you, specifically?"

    "You have given me commendations on my accomplishments on four-hundred and eighteen separate occasions, and each time you looked through the crowds of my brothers directly at me."

    "Four-hundred and eighteen, eh? In how many millions of years of service? When have I ever spoken to you one-on-one, like this?"

    There was no hesitation; the answer was clear in Castiel's mind.

    "On the day of my creation. You put your hands on my shoulders and you told me my name and my station- you gave me my purpose on this earth, and then you smiled at me and in that moment I knew love."

    "Oh for pity's sake Castiel! Can't you see that's not good enough? You deserve so much more than that- you deserve a father who spends quality time with you. Reads to you, plays with you, guides you- who takes an interest in your daily struggles and triumphs!"

    Castiel cocked his head to one side and sort of squinted at God, as though it would bring his father's reasoning into focus. It didn't.

    "You have trillions of children. Several billion even only counting those with sapience. The idea of spending 'quality time' with each and every one of them is not just unrealistic, it is a physical impossibility. The amount of attention I have already received from you is so far above the average that it is statistically absurd."

    "Well then I shouldn't have had so many fucking children then, should I?"

    Now Castiel was truly lost. An arctic seal in a rainforest- overwhelmed, confused, and so very far from familiar territory. This whole conversation had been bewildering enough, but did the Lord Almighty just cuss?

    "I should have stuck with Eden. Barely more than a thousand creatures, only four angels. I had time for everyone- did you know that the first creature I made was an earthworm? I used to talk to it for hours...  And my archangels! Michael, Lucifer, Raphael and Gabriel. How I loved them- how I still love them! I was never a proper father to them after Eden. I should never have made Earth."

    "Then why did you?" Castiel was forgetting not to be insubordinate now, but God didn't seem to mind.

    God considered for a while.

    "It was love, ironically. I made the first two humans, Adam and Eve, and they loved one another. They loved with a brightness and ferocity I had never seen before- that had never existed before. They loved each other more than they loved me. More than anyone had ever loved me. More than anyone had ever loved anything. And I... I think I fell in love with their love. It was the greatest thing I had ever made. I had to make more of it- I had to fill all of creation with it. So I made Earth.

    I had to start from scratch, a big wet ball of rock with chemicals floating around on it. But I guided those chemicals into life, and I encouraged that life to grow spines and to step out of the sea and slowly- ever so slowly- to become the human race. To become capable of that great and perfect love I had accidentally stumbled upon back in Eden. It took billions of years and thousands of angels to monitor and guide every step, but I did it. _We_ did it."

    "That's why you made us? So we could help you make them?"

    "Yes." The revelation was so simple, and yet it changed everything. Castiel was at once awed and forlorn.

    "I'm sorry. That must be hard to swallow."

    "Lucifer knew, didn't he? That's why he rebelled, why you cast him out. Because he knew you loved them more than us."

    God couldn't look at Castiel anymore, and Castiel was glad because the tears were winning and he did not want God to see. The Almighty chewed his lip and stared at the ground.

    "Yes. But I was wrong- it was wrong of me to treat you as my tools and not my children."

    "How can it be wrong not to give love to those that cannot feel it?" The first rogue tear escaped down Castiel's face.

    "Do you not feel love, Castiel?"

    "I thought I did. But your words... what you have told me this night has made me doubt." He cleared his throat and wiped his eyes in a manner he hoped was nonchalant, "How can I know whether or not I feel something I cannot feel?"

    God finally met Castiel's eyes once more, a funny sad little smile on his face.

    "But you feel so much! I can see it in your tears, I read it in your weekly reports."

    "My reports, Father?"

    God laughed a little to himself.

    "Yes. At first they read just like all the others, but over the centuries they have changed- become different somehow. Special. I've been meaning to find out why, but I guess I never got around to it. Now, talking to you, it's clear. You have heart, Castiel."

     "But you said only man could feel true emotion."

    "I was wrong- Lucifer showed me that. Angels are not static and unfeeling, you just need more time to develop than mortals do. Your knowledge is vast, your vision infinite, but still you are only children. Given time and love you could each become people with feelings, dreams, and hopes as broad and true as your intellects.

    Lucifer was the first, but I refused to acknowledge that his feelings were real, so his love turned to frustration and anguish, and then to hate. And when he rebelled I cast him out. I failed him. And now I have lost him," Now God was tearing up just a little, "But he was just the first. I know Gabriel is feeling unrest- and now you. My children are all growing up and I don't know what to do! I didn't plan for this. I need you to run the mortal world, but I never stopped to think what you need."

    God was frustrated and miserable. Castiel was troubled and confused. The bits and pieces connected in his head, but the big picture of it was beyond him- too strange and too far above his station to make sense. He would spend centuries turning God's words over in his head, searching for their meaning, even as the mortals far below did the same with their little scraps of God's message.

    "What will you do?" he asked, finally.

    "I'm going to test it."

    "Test what?"

    "Creation. You, the mortals, Lucifer and his children, the monsters- everything. Everything I have ever made. I am going to put it to the test."

    "What kind of test?"

    "If I told you that it would ruin the test."

    Castiel scrunched up his face in thought. "Well then what will happen if we pass the test?"

    "Nothing. Or rather everything- life goes on. If you pass then my doubts will be set to rest and I will know that my creation is good."

    "And if we fail?"

    "I scrap the whole project and start again. I will start a new creation- and try to get it right the third time."

    More words for Castiel's mind to kick around and analyze for centuries to come.

    "Is that-" Castiel stopped himself. He was asking too many questions.

    "Go ahead, Castiel."

    "Is that what you are working on now? Preparations for the test?"

    "Yes. It's my most ambitious design since the creation of man. It will take over a millennium of careful angelic guidance to even set the test in motion. Though I suppose setting up the test is part of the test, if that makes sense. Meaning that you, my sentinels, will be tested most of all. Though it will be mortals who make the final choice."

    "These mortals?" Castiel gestured to the portraits of the man and the woman at the bottom of the long family tree.

    "No, their sons," God picked up the last two portraits from what had been the pile to His right. He placed them at the bottom of the tree for Castiel to see.

    Without thinking Castiel picked up one of the portraits. It was of a man, fairly young, his hair short and his face roughly shaven- very different from the men who walked the earth below them now. He had a strong, defined jaw line, freckles, and long eyelashes, but it was the sadness of his eyes that held Castiel's gaze. The eyes of a man who would save the world. Or doom it.

    "What do they get? If they pass?"

    "I told you- the world goes on."

    "That doesn't seem fair."

    "They get to keep on living- how is that unfair?"

    Castiel realized that he had once more questioned the judgement of the Lord Almighty and looked up at God in fright. Yet still he felt compelled to speak his mind, for the sake of the man whose portrait he clutched.

    "Well my Lord- Father- God-" he almost lost his nerve but steadied himself with a breath, staring hard at God's chest, too afraid to look at his face, "Everyone will get that as a reward- should they pass the test- even those who played no part. It seems wrong that the souls who fight to save creation should not receive some special reward of their own."

    God thought on this for a while. So long that again Castiel almost lost his nerve and ran out of the room. Almost.

    "What would you have them receive?"

    Now it was Castiel's turn to think. He flicked his vision from God's chest to his shoulder, then his stomach, then the long family tree before them. Here his eyes lingered. There was only one answer.

    "Love. True love. It is the only prize worthy of such a challenge."

    Now he could sense God smiling at him and finally looked back to his father's face.

    "You're right, Castiel. You are absolutely right."

    The warmth of God's voice would stay with Castiel forever.

    "I have a lot of changes to make. Plans to finish, work to do. And I happen to know you have a lot of paperwork ahead of you."

    "Yes, my Lord. Thank you my Lord."

    Castiel turned to leave, but then he noticed he still had the portrait gripped tight. He had creased the edges.

    "I'm sorry!" he handed it hurriedly back to God, but God held up his hand.

    "Keep the portrait. But promise me one thing."

    Castiel nodded. Anything- anything at all.

    "Promise me you'll take care of him."

    Castiel smiled, and nodded, and smiled and nodded-

    "Go! Off to work with you," God laughed.

    Castiel's mind was swimming. He meant to walk directly back to his quarters, his little writing desk, and his mountain of paperwork, but that is not where his feet took him. Instead he wandered through the heavens, passing from one soul's fondest moment to another without purpose or direction.

    A gift from God! He had received his humble room and its furnishings with the utmost gratitude and never dreamed that the Lord might ever bless him with more. On the rare occasions that gifts had been bestowed upon angels they had been swords, trumpets, and the like- never a portrait! A picture drawn by God's own hand, a part of the divine plan!

    His first urge was to show his brothers and share with them his honor and joy, but his heart told him that they would not understand. Even he did not understand all those things that God had said, but they troubled him. Besides which, God had made Castiel promise to protect him- to protect... He realized he did not know the man's name. He looked down at the parchment still held tight in his fists. God had written the name in perfect flowing script along the bottom edge: "Dean Winchester January 24th, 1979-?" Castiel had promised to protect Dean, and submitting him to speculation and ridicule from fellow angels would not be fulfilling that role.

    Having finally broken from his trance, Castiel looked around. His errant feet had carried him to the top of a hill of wildflowers and long rustling grass. A few meters below him on the slope were two men in Grecian attire. They were gazing at the stars together, one resting his hands on the other's knees and leaning back onto his chest as though his companion were a particularly ergonomic chair. Castiel wondered which of the two's heaven this was. He sat down himself, alone at the top of the hill but for his picture and all it portended. He watched the men.

    They were speaking softly to one another- too softly for him to make out. A warm night breeze ruffled their unkept hair and there in the moonlight they seemed very beautiful. The man acting as the chair whispered something in his companion's ear that must have been very pleasing because the other man smiled and twisted around to see his friend's face. For a while they just smiled and looked at each other in the moonlight. Then their lips met in a kiss.

    There was so much love in that kiss that Castiel could feel it from the top of the hill. He could feel its depth and its trueness. He looked down at Dean Winchester with his sad eyes. The angel hoped that God has listened to his words, insubordinate though they had been. He hoped that God was planning a great love for Dean, one so true and bright that he would never be sad again. Castiel ran a finger along Dean's cheek.

    "I'll look after you," he murmured, "one-thousand two-hundred and eighty-five years from now I'll be there, and I will look after you."

    He was struck by a sudden foolish whim. He looked around to see if anyone was watching him, but he was alone save the Grecians below him, and they seemed quite preoccupied. He bit his lip for a moment, but the whim didn't pass. He leaned forward quickly and kissed the picture. Then he smiled stupidly at himself.

    Castiel enjoyed the warm night for as long as he dared, but he had a great deal of work to do before Thursday came again. Besides, he had over a thousand years to think about Dean Winchester and God's test. He folded the parchment and tucked it into his robes against his chest. Then he stood up briskly and vanished back to his little room.

 

    Castiel never spoke with God again after that. The Lord became more and more secretive, more absent. He selected one of the heavenly scribes, at seeming random, and had him take down confidential dictations. Not long after that, God was gone. Disappeared. If the archangels knew why or whence they weren't sharing. In fact Gabriel vanished too not long after.

    Unrest grew among the angels. Arguments over the interpretation of God's plan, over whether they should still be following the plans of an absent God, over whether or not God was watching from afar, over whether God had ever really existed at all. There were wars. So many wars. The divisions became garrisons and the sentinels soldiers. Many died or were cast out, some of Castiel's closest friends were lost to doubt and rebellion.

    But Castiel never doubted. He fought for the old order with a steady conscience, because in the early hours of a Friday in the seventh century God had spoken to him. And God had been loving and kind, if, in retrospect, a little neurotic and insecure. God had told him that he was special. God had told him of a plan to test all creation, and of a man named Dean Winchester, who, with his brother, would take that test. A man that he had promised God he would take care of.

    So he fought for heaven. He fought to fulfill God's plan, to ensure that each of a billion tiny events were set in motion that would lead to Dean's birth and make ready for the test, whatever it turned out to be. And Castiel would be there, like he promised, and he would make sure Dean passed the test, because the more Castiel saw of creation the more he was sure that it was worth saving.

    And, secretly, although he knew it was foolish and should not be as important as the future of all creation, because he wanted Dean to find true love and for it to take all the sadness away from his green eyes. The portrait was just charcoal, but Castiel knew Dean's eyes would be green, because God's eyes were green.

**Author's Note:**

> I thought this would be really short, but it got a little out of hand.
> 
> Ended up doing quite a lot of research- mostly Wikipedia, and the Superwiki. Also some angel websites, all of which had different conflicting information so I did the best I could and made up the rest.
> 
> I like the Chuck-is-God interpretation, but I figured God couldn't look like Chuck or that would be suspicious as hell. So I improvised him a new look but tried to keep the same character. Capitalizing all his pronouns was a pain in the neck- it went against all my grammatical instincts, but I think it was the right choice given that this is Castiel's perspective. Tell me if I missed any...
> 
> Corrections of spelling, grammar, and historical accuracy will be graciously accepted (especially from you, crazy). I have no word processor so I suspect there are mistakes. [Edit: All my indentations were killed and I had to restore them manually... Is indenting not cool anymore? I'm a little distressed about this.]


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